


singing like a gun

by orphan_account



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Ghosts, i made myself cry what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10529616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: She’s on the wind when spring comes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> im on a roll now no one can stop me. sorry for any typos. title taken from an excerpt of a quote from six gun snow white by catherynne m. valente.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s on the wind when spring comes.

Renée is there to witness the thaw of the world. And, of course, it starts in Bastogne.

Old men, young children, and certain veterans seem to sense her nearby when she walks by them. She never leaves them feeling cold, though; she had too much of that when the winter sunk in until it was deep enough to make France numb. It took some time, to make sure that, when she walked, she did not carry the memory of Christmas Eve with her. It just wouldn’t do. The last thing she wants is to remind people of the shelling and the blood and smoke.

When she steps out onto the cobblestone streets, she’s a warm breeze carrying Bulgarian lavender and rain on her shoulders, tucked under her ribs. The ice melts underfoot; puddles form and, for the first time, green is able to point its face up to the open sky. It’s hard to miss, especially after how much mankind seemed to have burnt and bloodied the earth.

Others pass her by. Some of them are lost; others are simply tired. There’s a place, out there, somewhere, but that would mean heading north and following the stars, and she’s not ready to go. It’s easy to find vaguely familiar faces wherever she goes because most could say that the war turned Europe into a gravesite; everyone looks familiar in their drab uniforms with their army-issued rifles. Some of them recognize her as the nurse from the church—a few reach out to touch her—but they’re on their way home, she knows, and she’s not ready to go, so she follows the blue of the sky and goes hand in hand with the trails of smoke and not-bodies yearning to see the world wake up from this dark, dark sleep.

The war isn’t ended yet, but it will. She knows. Like all things, it’s destined to end, and winter always gives way to spring—always. If there’s one thing Renée’s sure of in death, it’s that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
